Volume 5, Chapter 5 – The Tournament. A Talk with Guya
I sat at the edge of the cliff, drying off. Ships drifted down the river, and I watched the kaleidoscope of vessels, waiting for those two hours to pass. My stomach ached again, but I paid it no mind — even the fact that I'd lost some weight and looked quite pale didn't scare me. The main thing was that I was moving toward my goal. (A pity I don't have my tablet with the tasks I used to set for myself — the Lady handles that now.)
I accepted the fact that the officers didn't know me and were living their new lives. But... it's hard. I'm worried somehow. Maybe the Lady is a bad leader? (No, that's nonsense — if she were bad, it would have shown on the officers. After all, as God said, they appeared this way because I wanted them to be alive. And if that ability is now with another person and they look alive, that means she's a worthy Commander.)
Something poked into my back, tingling.
"One wrong word — death," an Agent in a clown costume smiled.
(I see... No breaks between fights.)
"What do you want, Bark," I smiled tiredly — and the Agent was taken aback. Then I was already pointing the rapier at his throat, still under the guise of a peaceful sit on the cliff.
"One wrong word — death," I repeated his words.
"How do you know my name?" he said, taken aback, trying to signal for backup with his hand.
"Nope! Not about that right now," — I hugged him tightly, moving his hand out of sight. "— What do you want? The loan isn't due for another five days."
"We noticed you spend a lot of time with Guya. And especially that you spent five hours in her tent," Bark revealed.
"I see... The Syndicate noticed some guy hanging around IBR-A..." I sighed.
"What? What makes you think I'm from the Syndicate? And that Guya's from IBR-A?"
"And why not the other way around? You're from IBR-A, and Guya's the Syndicate?" — I caught him on his words.
Another Agent sat down to my right, dressed as a commoner, pointing a dagger below my waist.
"There are two of us, clever one," Agent 2 smiled. "Toys are over. What do you know about Guya?"
"More about you..." — I thought, trying to recall how Uyana had introduced her main agents so I'd know who to contact if something happened to her.
I kept hugging Bark, blade at his throat, while Agent 2 sat tight to my right, dagger ready.
"Krig, Wave Two," I introduced the Agent to his own name and squad — and he, taken aback, gave me the chance to shove him off the cliff to swim in the water.
I turned my gaze back to Bark — and a new blade from Agent 3 appeared at my neck, while another sat down nearby, stabbing a dagger into my thigh.
"Throwing people off cliffs is bad," he smiled.
"Hey guys — I was just... Walking by and heard someone talking about me," Guya smiled, appearing behind the Agent holding the blade to my throat. "— Maybe talk to me instead?"
(My thigh aches, a blade at my throat, hugging a guy on my left, and Guya looming behind.)
"This is all... A training bout?" the Agent with the dagger in my leg began uncertainly.
"Exactly!" I picked up, without wanting anyone showing to pull me out of it.
And the other two agents confirmed it too.
A GPSD soldier walked up and looked at the whole picture.
"What's going on here?"
"A training bout," Guya answered — and the agents and I repeated in unison, making him leave.
Guya smiled at us through the curtain of her fringe, deciding what to do.
"I didn't see you. Disappear," she snapped — and the Agents reluctantly left the cliff, while I limped after them.
"Stop!" she called — and everyone turned. "— Only you, with the hole in your leg. Everyone else — later."
(And what does she want... Again going to turn my legs to dust or poison me with mushroom soup?)
"What do you want?"
"Hit me," — she thrust her face forward, hands behind her back, body tilted slightly toward me.
(What?)
I watched her arch, leaving only her face exposed for the strike, carefully moving her fringe to the sides, revealing her... Brown eyes? And she looks different now — no voluminous skirt, just a short black knee-length dress with slits at the hips, lace along the full length of the sleeves, and elegant white trim.
I walked closer, holding my thigh, and thought... (They hit — you run. They offer...)
I punched her square in the jaw, making her fall from the momentum.
She slowly rose, for a second a split lip — but a moment later she healed the wound and fixed her clothes, which had ridden up. Returning her fringe to place, she smiled, running up to me, poking my ribs with her fingers.
(I feel kind of uncomfortable now. Fine — hitting her when it didn't show on her face, but now I split her lip, even though she healed it. But that makes us even, and I can go about my business?!)
"Thanks. Bye! 👋" — without reacting to her "tickling," I headed toward the pyramid to wait there for the top-16 to start.
Guya quickly caught up, matching my pace, and peered into my face, leaning forward slightly.
"Wolf's happy he hit a girl? 😉" she winked through her fringe.
"Happy I hit the one who made me disabled and poisoned me with soup," I parried, displeased, trying not to lump her into the concept of "untouchable women."
(And why did she latch onto me? Or does the IBR-A agent need something else? I won't react to her provocations — I hope she'll detach on her own and go to her husband in Rekhilon, and let her beat his legs. I have my own life, and it's definitely not connected to the Imperial Bureau of Investigation of Arbakan. It's unlikely that an ordinary person in our world walks around every day with an FBI agent and they punch each other in the face while feeding each other mushroom soup.)
"Sleep together? 🫢" she giggled, covering her mouth.
(Holy shit!) (Wait, that was allowed?) (Now that's tournament intrigue) (Yeah, people have lost their minds, discussing this so openly...)
"What? 🤯" — I froze in confusion. "Stop playing with me!"
(Nice!) (Best! Don't be a simp) (Yeah... Lost one like that) (Herd of sheep)
"Fine..." — Guya hung her head, and a moment later poked my chest with her whole palm. "— Then..." — she leaned toward my ear. "— Tell me about... The Democracy of Silence..."
(Goosebumps ran down my spine from the ASMR in my ear. That's Guya all over. She doesn't care about methods, and she hardly feels empathy toward me — only personal gain. To hell with the methods — I'm sure she was ready to sleep with me too, just so I'd tell her about the Democracy of Silence or something else useful.)
"I won't... — I said into her ear. — Tell... You... Anything... You're a crazy-psycho-insane-mercenary-hypocritical-with-two-standards-cruel bitch."
(Oh, how cute) (A new couple must have appeared) (They whisper so sweetly)
Smack — Guya slapped me hard.
(Ooh! 🫣 That was harsh) (Hit! Hit!) (Simp...)
"Thanks," I answered the slap and walked on, limping. "Don't come near me. I won't hit you — I'll dump shit on you," I threatened.
I entered the arena, where one fighter awaited me.
[Norn: Ahem-ahem. Release the Kraken! Seraphim!]
[Khlorun: Hey! Norn. How much were you paid for that?]
[Norn: Five hundred gold. Why?]
[Khlorun: Heh. I got a thousand for... RELEASE THE BOTTOM OF THE WORLD! ROT OF FILTH — Seraphim from the mud, with manic tendencies]
[Norn: Is that legal?]
[Khlorun: The rules state any name can be registered — and I received information that Seraphim changed his name. I was obligated to announce it.]
[Norn: You're such a sellout.]
[Khlorun: Look who's talking. I just know how to sell myself! And I'm getting a taste for it! Because I ADORE entertaining the public and my work — but also the jingle of coins (jingles bags of coins)]
I stood across from a fighter with a staff, who was spinning it deftly in his hand, turning it into an unbroken wheel.
I pulled off my shirt, covered in dried blood.
[Norn: Fight!]
The fighter began a series of attacks toward me, piercing my ribs, shredding them. I stumbled on my wounded leg and started coughing, while he kept shredding me. I grabbed his staff with my shirt, wrapping it around on adrenaline, and fell with my full weight onto him, cracking my ribs, starting to breathe heavily.
The fighter was pulled down with me, releasing the staff as he went and flipping me over to decapitate me, under the crowd's shouts.
He stood on my chest, pressing my ribs into my lungs, and raised his arms above himself to savor victory.
(Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!)
[Norn: Seraphim has reached his peak. The A-rank isn't his level.]
[Khlorun: But how epic he'll die right now!]
I started closing my eyes, watching the smug fighter press his foot deeper into me, gathering more and more shouts from the crowd.
Red lines crawled across my body, pulsing, healing my wounds.
[Norn: Is healing during a fight legal?]
[Khlorun: The rules state the public is forbidden from helping fighters — the Healer is outside the pyramid. It's all legal.]
[Norn: (sigh) Who wrote these rules?!]
The fighter noticed my body healing and wanted to chop me, but I automatically snatched his weapon and instantly drove it into his neck, ramming it deep and kicking him away.
He staggered back, clutching his neck, and collapsed dead.
I stood up, fully healed, and didn't understand what had happened. (Who helped?! Why... This is starting to annoy me — that the world thinks I can't handle things myself. And every time someone new appears trying to become my shield. Is this some kind of curse?)
I stood by the corpse while fifty people in the stands chose which emotion to use. (They'll decide now and start chanting my name while insulting me at the same time.)
(I need to train more. Before the top-8 I have to get stronger — and I could steal a couple of daggers from someone to finish fights faster... But according to the commentators, this isn't a fight — it's a freak circus where people gather to enjoy blood and gore. And this happens every year in the Kingdom of Ruma — where the King himself comes to watch the S-ranks and gives the winner a chance to talk to him...)
(What nonsense...)
I turned and headed for the exit.
(Seraphim! Seraphim!) (Sign my chest!) (Freak without a moral compass!) (Butcher! Butcher! Butcher! Butcher! Butcher!)
A handkerchief from some girl flew at my feet — I smiled at her and pressed it into the ground so she'd definitely never want to love me or approach me. A moment later, apples flew at me — painful enough. (Why didn't they give them tomatoes — that's an insult but not a painful one.)
Whatever. I sat down at the exit and gathered all the apples thrown at me into my shirt. (Now I have normal food too.) And the stands, seeing me start eating their "stones," quickly stopped wasting resources on me.
[Norn: Enjoy your meal, Seraphim. Top-8 in two hours.]
[Khlorun: What even happens to him every break? First a beaten face, now a hole in his thigh and healing from outside. Pretty funny to watch — I'm even curious what he'll look like in another two hours!]
[Norn: Ha-ha! Clearly with a severed arm!]
(Where do they even sit? They're not visible in the pyramid, but they discuss everything so boldly, as if sitting in some bunker on another planet.)
(Whatever — pointless to think about it. But the apples are quite tasty — at least my back got properly beaten and a couple hit my head.)
Chewing an apple, I walked out of the pyramid, where I met haters and fans spitting and shoving handkerchiefs and paper with ink at me.
(Fine then.) I tore a sheet from a fan, writing my new name — "Burning Angel" — with an apple in my teeth, then poured the rest of the ink on a boiling hater. After which even more fans and haters rushed at me.
I sighed. (I'll never understand the herd instincts of people.)
And, escaping the crowd — of course getting ink on myself in return — I reached the water with a sense of deja vu and lowered myself in, where a blood-black halo spread from me, and the sailors on the ships stared at me in shock.
(Only 1/8 of the A-rank final... Still 1/4, 1/2, and the final. And then — the S division, up to nine more wins: 1/16, 1/8, 1/4, 1/2, and finally the final.)